POETRY.
"THE SOLDIER'S PETITION."
[AIR : " MORE OR LESS.1 I 'LISTED one day in a marching brigade— More fool I; And in a rash moment turned soldier by trade, (Don't know why,) For I very soon wished that I'd stuck to my spade.
Certain-ty,—certain-iy.
They sent me away to an isle in the East, Very hot; The living was awful, for man and for beast, What they got ; And the privates, though " full," didn't like it the least They did not,—they did not.
For national honour they said it was right— Be it so ; But I caught a bad fever the very first night, So don't know : I was sent home again in a terrible plight, To my woe,—to my woe.
But when I was well I was packed off by train, Yes I was, To a corner of Africa over the main,— Oh, because The honour of England required it again ; Which is poz,—which is poz.
We slaughtered the savage, for fame and renown, Over there ; And I caught a new fever for Church and for Crown,, For my share I And the Tories are up, and the profits are down, That I swear,—that I swear !
So here I am home again, crippled for life, From the seas ; And that's the result of your wars to the knife, By degrees ; And what's to become of my children and wife, If you please,—if you please P H. C.
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